Blonde's Eye View: Post-Olympic blues
Angela Clarke wonders what happens now the party's gone
The Olympics and the Paralympics have finished. Summer only started last week and it's already over. Our fizz has gone flat. Our strawberries have gone mouldy.
We tasted the sweet goodness of positivity, but the Mexican wave of joy that swept through London has petered out. This is going to hurt. We have collective post-holiday blues. This is the winter of our disappointment.
I have no illusions now. The brief break between the Olympics and the Paralympics taught us the elation was not sustainable.
The Olympics ended to a standing ovation and deafening cheers on August 12.
By 9.30am the following morning, London had hardened its heart and sworn under its breath at the commute, the split rubbish bag it tripped over and the jerk who pushed in front of it at Starbucks.
God it's a relief. It hurts your face all that grinning doesn't it? And I'm sure you inhale more toxic smog when you're cheering and laughing.
It's just not in Londoners' genetic make up to be so gleeful. We've evolved to ignore strangers on the Tube. We've evolved to sit in a pub and bitch.
We've adapted to shoulder people out our way, while being careful not to touch them.
The naturally optimistic cross the Zone Six border and are shaped by the intense irritation of compressed humanity till they develop a scorn-reflex. Takes about two days.
Now we know how delightful this city can be with fewer people, more tourists and pride, now we know what we're missing out on.
All the happiness has just left us unhappier. Typical. Bloody Olympics, they can go do one. No, I'm not crying - I've got smog in my eye.
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